A Safe Place
by OnlyTheInevitable
Summary: Snapshots of Eric's relationship with Jean, leading up to the night of the call. "I rang your mom to pick me up because this is where I felt safe."


**2011**

_Otis hadn't locked his bedroom door._

The realization washed over Eric like a bucket of ice water had been thrown on him. One moment they were singing along to "The Origin of Love", trying to figure out how to apply drugstore lashes, and attempting to find the best shade of lipstick for their complexion - the next he was watching the light from the hallway break into their sanctuary.

_Did he not realize Mrs. Milburn was home?_

With each creak of the heavy wooden door, every muscle in his body froze in anticipation of what he'd always dreaded. Shock. Disgust. Anger. Disapproval. Maybe not all, maybe only one, but those were the reactions he'd always imagined on the faces of his parents whenever he made sure his chair was securely positioned under the doorknob of his room, always making sure to check twice. And a third time. Just to be sure.

Except this time, the reactions wouldn't manifest in the dark brown eyes of his family, but instead he'd see it on the face of an eccentric lady who had always greeted him with a wide smile and open arms.

Otis was frozen for a completely different reason. He remained still as a statue as he held his glued eyelash precariously over his eye, looking into a propped up hand mirror. "Should I be closing my eye when I do this?" he asked before wincing in pain. Eric felt himself wanting to give Otis a warning, but he couldn't find the voice to do so.

The door swung open and Mrs. Milburn looked around, trying to find them before her gaze fell down to the floor. Eric locked eyes with her and he felt the blush on he'd applied to his cheeks starting to burn from the real thing. Her brows furrowed for a moment as she squinted her eyes, looking at them with an intensity that he felt to his core. "We were just kidding arou-," he started, trailing off as he watched her raise a finger to pause him as she spun around on one wedge adorned foot.

_She was going to call his parents._

"Mrs. Milburn!" he called out, sitting up straight and watching the multiple layers of fabric billow behind her. He turned back to Otis in panic, just to see his friend was completely unfazed at having been caught. In fact, he was trying miserably to apply lash glue on the other thin lash line.

He heard some rustling in the other room and he felt his heart rate speed up. _He wasn't going to be allowed to come over anymore. _

"Eric!" she called out. He jumped in his seat and pivoted his head to watch her stomp back towards Otis' room, a large bag in her hands.

"Yes?" he called back, trying to subtly shuck the boa from off his shoulders.

"How many times do I need to remind you to call me Jean?" she teased with a wide smile.

"W-what?" he stuttered, eyes glued to her as he watched her cross her ankles and sit down on the ground next to them.

"No one calls me Mrs. Milburn. Especially not friends," she replied, pulling the bag in between them and unzipping it.

She looked over at Otis and gave him a look of sympathy. "Sweetheart," she prompted, looking through her bag while making a _tsk_ sound. She found what she was looking for and pulled it out with a proud smile. "Use this when you apply lashes. You're getting the glue all over your fingers," she stated, passing him a weird looking pair of tweezers.

"_Mom!," _Otis whined. "No, look. I got it. See?" He turned proudly to face them - one eyelash a few centimeters from his lash line as the other started peeling up from the side.

"It's a stylistic choice, that's for sure," she laughed as he sighed in resignation and took the tweezers from her hand.

Eric turned to face her again and craned his neck to get a better look into her bag. All he could see was makeup. Different types and brands of makeup.

"So, Eric," Jean beamed, making his attention snap up to her face.

"Yes?" he squeaked.

"What's your color?" she asked, trifling through her bag, the sound of plastic clinking together filling the room.

"My color?" he repeated.

She looked back at him with a friendly smile, lifting one hand up to wipe her finger delicately under his eye makeup to touch it up. "Mhm. What color do you think compliments you?" she asked.

_She really wasn't mad. _"I-I'm not sure," he replied honestly. He'd been trying to figure that out in one of his sister's _Vogue _magazines, but he hadn't gotten far before he heard someone coming up the stairs and he ran.

Jean observed his face delicately, holding up a few tubes to his lips before searching again. "Aha!" she proclaimed, pulling out a shiny, silver tube. "I think you should try this," she whispered.

Eric turned to his mirror and upcapped the lipstick, twisting it until an orange tip came out. He turned back over to Jean who was applying a pink color to her own lips, experience being her guide to applying it without error. He turned back and carefully outlined the area of his mouth, covering it twice over so that the orange popped.

In the mirror, he saw Jean's face peer over his shoulder. "Orange looks wonderful on you. Do you like it?" she asked.

She was looking at him with such fondness. No hint of disapproval, no indication there was anything abnormal about this, just a desire to help. He felt an embarrassing wave of heat hit his face again as his throat grew tight and his eyes burned. "I love it," he replied, a shaky smile trying to convey the depth of his gratitude.

He met her eyes in the mirror and saw that her smile turned melancholy and her eyes took on a note of understanding in their blue depths. "I love it too," she murmured, placing a soft kiss to his cheek before pulling back and wiping the trace of lipstick off with her thumb.

Jean stood up slowly, looking down at them with her continued fondness. "Otis, I promise it gets easier over time," she reassured, watching as he tried to dislodge the tweezers stuck to his lashes. She looked back down at him and winked. "You boys can use any of the makeup you want in that bag. Under the condition you come downstairs later and let me see the results!" she proclaimed playfully.

"Okay, Mom," Otis replied.

"Thank you, Mrs-Jean. Thank you, Jean," Eric rambled, sniffling as gracefully as he could.

"I'm going to leave the door open. It's hot as balls in here," she said as she walked down the hall.

He looked at his lips one more time before pulling Jean's makeup bag into his lap, looking at all the treasures inside. "Otis, your mom's really cool," he beamed.

**2015**

"Do you both have your cell phones?" Jean asked for what had to be the twentieth time.

"Yes, Mom," Otis groaned, reaching under his skirt to re-adjust his nylons.

"And you, Eric?" she asked, turning her motherly worry to him.

He patted the breast pocket of his jean jacket proudly. "Of course, with your number on speed dial."

She smiled at him and as she opened her mouth to ask another question, he beat her to the punch. "And! I have the bus station map with all the routes we will be taking there and back highlighted."

"And the times?" she asked.

"And the times," Eric confirmed.

Jean took a few steps forward and pulled them into her arms, kissing the tops of both of their heads while trying not to get synthetic blonde hair in her mouth. "Mom, we've been on the bus plenty of times," Otis mumbled into her shirt.

"Yes, but you're only thirteen," she replied. Taking a step back and putting on a serious face, holding one of their hands in each of hers, she stated, "I want you to listen to me. Stay by each other at all times. If one of you needs to pee, the other follows. I'd even feel more comfortable if you followed each other into the stall. It's okay to use the big one for safety purpo-"

"Mom!" Otis exclaimed, trying to end the speech early.

"I'm serious, Otis." She paused for a moment, choosing her words before slowly confessing, "The world can be cruel to people who express themselves outside of societal conventions. I love you both and I think you look fabulous, but I don't want either of you to get hurt."

Eric nodded in solemn agreement while Otis just agreed to placate Jean. "I promise, buddy system. We're going to be late," he said, adjusting his purse strap on his shoulder.

Jean smiled sweetly at him before placing a kiss on both boys' cheeks. As they started to walk towards the door, they were stopped one more time by her. "Eric?"

"Yeah?" he asked, turning around.

"Um. They haven't called here since you got your cell phone, but just in case it's loud and you can't answer your phone and they _do_ call. Um, where did you tell your parents you would be?" she asked tentatively.

She never made a big deal of it, but he knew Jean had noticed he wasn't the same around his parents as he was at their house. She'd helped him wipe the makeup clean off his face enough times to see the anxiety in his eyes about any accidentally being left on. She would never lie, she respected them as his parents, but she wasn't in the business of outing kids either.

"There's a showing of _Die Hard_ at the same cinema, so I said we're going to that," he answered.

She pursed her lips in a smile and nodded. "Okay. Have fun at _Die Hard. _Be back by eleven! And I wasn't kidding about the bathroom thing!" she shouted as they left.

**2018**

He didn't even think twice. There was no other choice. All he needed right now was unconditional and non-judgemental help, and his fingers were unconsciously dialing the number for the one person who fit the bill.

Even so, hearing her voice made him want to cry.

"_Hello?"_

Putting on as cheery as a voice as he could, he rasped out a small, "Hi."

"_Who is this?"_

"Hi. It's Eric. Um-," he swallowed thickly. He could hear her starting to respond, but cut he cut her off as the words tumbled from his lips. "Something bad has happened. Can you come and pick me up?"

There was a slight pause as he listened to the sound of fabric moving, followed by the unmistakable sound of her shoes on hardwood. "_Eric, are you in danger? Where are you? Is Otis with you?"_

He looked around at the hanging lights and the crowd of people that had slowly amassed nearby. "E-excuse me. Where am I?" he asked.

"320 North Park Passage. You're at the White Oak Food Truck," the girl who'd given him the napkin replied.

"320 North Park Passage. White Oak Food Truck," Eric repeated. "Otis missed the bus. He said he had something else he needed to do. An errand or something. He said he couldn't make it," he answered.

"_But I saw him leave,_" she mused, almost to herself.

"I-I don't know what happened," he replied, his voice quivering despite his attempts to keep it steady.

He didn't. They'd been doing this exact same routine for years. They got from the bus to the show without a problem. They got stares, they got jokes, but they were safe together. They were just seen as two weird kids having fun.

Tonight he was a faggot wandering the streets in women's clothes.

"_Eric," _she called out, getting his attention.

"Yes?" he whispered.

"_Are you hurt?"_ she asked, the sound of her engine punctuating her question.

"Um, I-," Eric stammered, taking the napkin off his cheek only to see the once white material had turned completely red. "A little."

"_Eric, I'm on my way. I promise I'll be there very soon," _she reassured him. He could hear the slight tremor in her voice and he knew she was scared. Scared of what she'd see when she reached him. Scared of what 'something bad has happened' might look like on the boy she's treated like a son. But he also knew that Jean wouldn't ask him to divulge anything sensitive over the phone. "_Do you feel safe?"_

"I think so," he replied. The men had gone the other way after they were done.

Coughing away the onslaught of emotion that threatened to emerge from the memory, he joked, "But you're not. I don't want to make you talk and drive. That's one of the leading causes of-"

"_I'll stay on the phone as long as you need me to, sweetheart," _she interrupted seriously, not letting him deflect. "_You're on speaker in the passenger seat," _she replied soothingly.

The motherly tone in her voice struck a nerve in him and he felt his bottom lip begin to quiver. He didn't have many numbers memorized. He had three: his own number, his home phone, and Otis' home phone. He was in pain, he was scared, and he couldn't call his own family. The strings of rainbow lights started to meld together like a blurred kaleidoscope as tears started brimming in his eyes. He pursed his lips together as he tried to avoid making a sound, curling in on himself in an attempt at self-comfort.

"I-it's okay, Jean. I promise I'll be right where I said I would be," he replied, tears evident in his shaky tone.

There was a moment of silence and he could practically hear her fighting her own parental need to keep him on the line. "_I understand if you want a few moments to yourself before I pick you up, but please stay by the phone. Okay, darling? I'll call this number when I'm close," _she replied.

"Thank you," he replied, listening to her goodbyes before ending the call and walking to the table.

"Thank you for letting me use your phone," Eric said, looking around the group for someone to hold out their hand and take the phone he was offering. He couldn't actually remember who had given it to him.

"What happened?" a boy, a bit older than himself, asked.

_I was jumped. I was beaten up. I was robbed. I was the victim of a hate crime._

_Which was the most accurate?_

"You can't just ask that, Tommy!" a short girl snapped, making Eric jump.

"Do you need something to eat?" the girl who took back the phone asked.

"N-no, I'm just going to sit over there and wait for my ride," Eric mumbled, pointing indistinguishably to a table.

He sat nearby, hoping that the phone girl wouldn't leave, but not wanting to ask another favor and have her hover over him. He didn't see who did it, but suddenly a bottle of water was placed in front of him along with several fresh, clean napkins. Listening for the seal to break, he drank some of the water, ignoring the copper taste that went down with it, and grabbed a new bandage.

Eric heard a loud crack and quickly turned around to look over his shoulder, checking the road he'd just been walking on for a group of men stomping back to have another round.

But there was nothing.

Turning back to the table, he watched idly as a woman resumed the dancing she'd been doing when he got there. The couples on dates occasionally turning to look at him before focusing back on each other - placing kisses on the other's cheeks and whispering words of comfort for an act of violence they didn't actually experience themselves.

Not knowing what to focus on, and not wanting to make eye contact with the people looking at him, he turned his attention to the wood of the picnic table, reading the various messages of graffiti carved and penned into the surface.

He wasn't sure how long he was staring at the table when he heard a voice call out. "Hey, uh-Eric! Your mom's calling!"

Eric looked over and saw a phone being held out to him. As best he could in his shoes, he got out of the table and rushed over to the girl. "Thank you. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he heard the girl say as he held the phone to his ear.

"Jean?" he stated.

"_I'm on North Park. Do you see my car?_" she asked, sounding relieved to hear him.

"Uh," he drew out, looking both ways. He saw a pair of lights coming from where he'd been walking and he felt his body tense up before seeing the blue hue of Jean's car. "Yeah, yeah. I'm going to come to you. I'll be there in a sec," he rushed before handing the phone back.

"Thank you so much," he said appreciatively to the crowd.

"Get home safe, mate." He heard as he turned and started speed walking to the car.

He heard the car door slam before seeing a tuft of ash blonde hair rounding the car. "Eric?" she called out.

"Here, Jean!" he replied, his voice breaking from the strain.

He hadn't had a chance to seem himself, but if the look on Jean's face was any indication - he looked like shit. She ran the rest of the way to him, but when she went to throw her arms around him, she stopped herself. She lifted her hand but it just wandered in the air, as if trying to decide whether to touch his head, his cheek, or his arm. Only to end up going back to herself to wipe away the tears threatening to fall.

Her tears brought on a fresh wave of his own, and he bent down slightly to wrap his arms around her small frame. "Thank you, Jean," he whispered, finding comfort in the smell of her hair and the feeling of her clothes.

She coughed lightly, trying to dispel the emotion from her throat as she rubbed soothing circles into his back. "I'm here. I'm going to take care of you. You're safe with me. I promise," she mumbled.

She was barely over five foot, a tiny, willowy woman who was practically drowning in her old, worn pyjamas and slippers. But he believed her. And for the first time all night, he felt safe.

He sniffled and stood up straight, smiling at her as comfortingly as he possibly could. "Thanks, Jean."

She nodded and offered him a weak smile before looking around him, making sure they had privacy. "Eric, you can disclose what happened to you at your comfort level, but I need you to tell me if I need to take you to the hospital or the police. I know it sounds invasive and like the last thing you'd want to do, but-" she informed, Dr. Milburn, Ph.D coming out.

He shook his head and interrupted her. "It wasn't anything like that. I was just robbed. Got roughed up a bit," he explained.

She nodded and let out a long, low breath before pulling him back into her arms, cradling his head. "Thank god," she whispered.

"I did lose my phone and wallet," he lamented, letting her hold him. "And my stylish tiger print coat. I don't have a feeling I'll be getting any of those things back."

"No," she exhaled with a humorless laugh, giving him one final squeeze before leaning away while holding his arms. "But I'll be on the lookout for an even better tiger print coat," she promised with a smile.

She caught sight of his cheek and visibly winced. "How badly does it hurt?" she asked, motioning for him to get into the car.

"Uh," he started, actually evaluating it for the first time in the night. "Badly," he answered.

"Well, let's go home so I can help clean you up before you have to go back to your parents," she offered. She paused for a minute, looking at the sky reflectively. "I'm sorry Otis didn't show up. I tried calling him, but he didn't answer," she apologized before getting into the car, a twinge of worry lacing her voice.

He got in and buckled his seatbelt as he answered. "I talked to him an hour or two ago. It sounded like something important came up. I'm sure he didn't want to miss," he shrugged, wanting to comfort her even half as much as she confronted him.

"I'm sure you're right," she nodded, letting out a low breath.

_He sure hoped he was._

The car ride over was spent in relative silence. He was busy enjoying the comfort of not having to watch over his shoulder for danger, while she was enjoying the comfort of having him safe next to her. Eric couldn't help but notice it was taking longer to get there than it seemed the route had taken her the first time, and it brought a small smile to imagine speed demon Jean racing through the night to get to him.

Eric followed her into the Milburn house, agreeing to stay so he could see Otis and have a moment to collect himself, and watched as she ran to the sink. "Take a seat on the couch! I'll be over in a minute. Do you want anything to eat or drink?" she called out.

"Uh, no. No. Thank you," he called out, sitting down on the red and yellow embroidered sofa. He glanced around the room with a deep sigh. He'd been here just the other day, and yet it felt like a lifetime ago now.

_Have you got a penis?_

_Show us your dick!_

"Eric," Jean coaxed, making him jump as she sat down next to him.

"Y-yes?" he stammered, glancing over to her.

She stared into his eyes for a moment, as if checking to see if he was really looking at her back, before presenting her medical kit. "I'm afraid I don't have much. Here, face me," she commanded.

He pivoted his body and did as she told, holding still while she gathered some materials. "I'm going to wipe this over your cheek, it will sting, but it will take some of the blood off and help disinfect the wound," she explained, waiting for him to give her permission before continuing.

He hissed and gritted his teeth in pain as the sharp burn of chemicals infiltrated his cut. Her brows furrowed as a small frown tugged her lips downward. "I know, I know it hurts. Just a moment more, okay?" she reassured, scanning his face to look for any other wounds. "Does anything else hurt?" she asked, looking into his eyes again.

His gaze darted down to his lap where he was playing idly with his old bloody napkin. A lot hurt, but nothing that could be fixed with a medkit. "I think I'm good," he shrugged.

She made a tsk-ing sound with her mouth that drew his attention upwards again. "You are not 'good', Eric. You're strong, but you were still hurt," she lamented. She put her fingers under his chin and tilted his head so the light was on him better.

He nodded weakly in agreement as she assessed him. "Just as I expected," she murmured. "Still handsome."

A real smile graced his face and he saw the same reflected on her own. Standing up, she took an old blanket from the back of the sofa and draped it over him lovingly, making sure it was tucked into his arms before leaning down and placing a kiss to his forehead, followed by a featherlight kiss above his cut.

"It won't need stitches or anything, will it?" he asked as she sat back down next to him.

"No, nothing like that. Just some care and time," Jean replied, kicking off her slippers and wiggling her toes.

After a moment of silence, he felt her nudge his knee with her own. "Eric?"

"Hm?" he mused.

"What are you going to tell your parents?" she asked tentatively.

A new wave of anxiety washed over him as the reality really dawned on him. He knew he'd be going home after this, but he didn't think about the fact that he now had a bruised face to cover for. "I-I don't know," he replied honestly. "They might be asleep by now. I can probably just-," he began before she interrupted him.

"Sweetheart," she cooed in that all-knowing-Jean way. "They'll know something happened."

He nodded in acceptance and thought through excuses. _Tripped into something? Fell downstairs? Fainted and fell?_

"Have things gotten better?" she asked.

He looked over at her and saw understanding and sadness, upset she couldn't protect him from the inevitable cruelty she'd been so worried about him facing. He remembered his parents meeting her for the first time. "_That is one strange woman. I've never seen a woman so obsessed with orchid art. Her son's pretty strange too."_

He reached over and held her hand. "They-um. I'm sure they know. It's just kinda like an unspoken thing in the house. They don't like the clothes, and I never let them see me with makeup on. But- they love me. In their own way."

She nodded, listening to him intently. "Well," she whispered with a small smile, raising their joined hands to her lips. "I think it's hard for someone to meet you and not love you, you sweet, sweet boy."

She said it with so much conviction, it almost made him believe her.


End file.
